Perhaps We Could Actually Have a Scandal This Time
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Mrs Hughes has a scandal on her hands unlike one she's ever experienced before.
1. Chapter 1

**Unlikely situation alert. About a month after war is declared. **

**1.**

The smell, she couldn't deny it, was absolutely pungent despite the fact that some chemical had been used in an attempt to cover it up. She momentarily indulged in wrinkling her nose at it. Well, as it smelt like that chemical was the fluid that Mr Carson used to clean the silver, it wasn't altogether surprising that the attempted disguise had been unsuccessful and she experienced a brief shock of incredulity that someone in service would attempt to cover the smell of vomit with silver polish, but then reminded herself that that was the very last thing she should be worrying about.

This was the third time this week- to her knowledge anyway- that this had occurred. The first had been on Monday morning when she had returned to the servants' quarters after breakfast for some reason or other; upon visiting the bathroom the most foul stench had reached her nose. After that she had made a note to check the offending room whenever she could without drawing undue attention to herself. Each time the miscreant- for she was sure that there was something subversive about this- had attempted to cover up the evidence, in each instance with a different but equally absurd chemical. In her experience, vomit in the mornings in a women's bathroom was never ever a good thing: housekeeper's prerequisite matronly instincts on full alert.

It had not escaped her imagination that someone could be ill- she was not given to reaching melodramatic conclusions _too _immediately- but then why had no one come forward and asked for time to recover? That no one was willing to admit to any ailment made her highly suspicious of the whole affair and their attempts to cover their tracks increased her conviction. Then it occurred to her- out of a wish to make a bad situation not as bad as it could be- that one of the girls had been drinking. It would certainly account for the furtive air of the whole thing but then, she thought with an inward roll of her eyes, was it likely that she would have missed someone who clearly couldn't hold their drink drinking three times within the space of a week? No, it wasn't, she forced herself to admit. There was only one explanation left, the one that had been her gut instinct; and exactly the explanation that she had hoped against hope wouldn't turn out to be true.

**2.**

"Are you quite all right, Mrs Hughes? You look rather pale, if you don't mind me saying."

She nodded briskly and took that as an invitation to sit down, wondering as she did so how it would be best to convey her assessment of the situation accurately without giving the butler a stroke.

"There is something rather serious that I need to talk to you about," she began, "I know I can rely on you discretion and this matter, well... it's rather a delicate one."

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again, his concern apparent.

"I'm fine," she told him grimly, "But I'm pretty sure someone else in the house isn't."

It did not take her long to inform him of the goings-on of the past week and the conclusions that she had regrettably drawn from them. He listened patiently although she was sure that inside he was panicking almost as much as she inwardly was. Once she had stopped talking he was quiet for a moment longer, seeming to contemplate everything that she had said. Then;

"And that is your hypothesis?" he asked, seeking confirmation, "That one of the female staff is... with child?"

"You don't think I'm jumping to conclusions, do you?" she wondered.

"I pray to God that you are," he replied, not attempting to disguise the bleakness in his voice, "The talk doesn't bear thinking about. Goodness only knows what I'm going to say to his Lordship! And you say you've no idea who it could be?"

She shook her head.

"No one's particularly been themselves these last few weeks, so there's no use trying to base it on that. And I would ask you not to mention anything to any of the family until we're sure that I'm not barking up entirely the wrong tree."

His huff of discontent was audible.

"And you've not noticed any changes in anyone's... physical appearance?" 

"I tend to neglect to measure the girls' waists with a tape measure every week," she replied sarcastically, then added, "Though the way we are at the moment, it might not be such a bad idea."

He half-snorted at that.

"We shouldn't really be laughing about this," she reprimanded gently.

"No, you're right."

His voice was deadly serious.

**3.**

"Has Mrs Hughes been asking you any funny questions?"

Anna finally caught up with Gwen that evening. In response to the question, Gwen seemed to rack her brains for a moment.

"Not really," she replied, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Only she seemed quite inquisitive earlier on."

"How'd y' mean?" 

Briefly, Anna recounted the conversation that had occurred between herself and the housekeeper than morning. Gwen listened, the look of puzzled surprise growing as the tale went on.

"So she asked you if you'd been ill?" she asked for confirmation.

"Yes."

"And have you?"

"No."

"Then she asked if there was anything you'd like to tell her?"

"Yes."

"And did you?"

"No!"

Gwen thought on the matter for a moment. It was apparent that the housekeeper who, while usually not _completely _averse to confidences didn't normally actively seek them out, had her own agenda. This wasn't altogether unusual except that it involved the housemaids: generally hidden agendas were reserved to deal with those who weren't under Mrs Hughes' jurisdiction; she could afford to simply order the housemaids around. Gwen saw Anna watching her expression.

"Odd isn't it?"

Anna nodded.

"Yes."

**4.**

"So she's been asking you as well?"

It came as a great relief to Anna and Gwen, who had later been questioned herself, that they were not the only ones with whom Mrs Hughes seemed to have been taking an extremely understanding- for want of better word- tone with.

Gwen nodded.

"Yes, though I can't think why," she added with a laugh, "I'll have gone before the week's out!"

Daisy looked relieved by the former but, like Anna, seemed to feel a pang at the latter.

"Odd in't it?" she remarked.

Anna nodded.

"She had us wondering what we'd done wrong."

"And what 'ave you done?"

The interjection into their conversation was unwelcome- the voice being unmistakable- and it fleetingly crossed Anna's mind to ask Thomas when he would be gone too. But she turned quite calmly and replied that none of them had done anything for which they could be blamed.

"What's all the fuss about then?" 

Knowing that he could really give two hoots and was just being his usual intrusive self, Anna was quite prepared to ignore him but Gwen answered in her place.

"Mrs Hughes has been asking us some funny questions is all."

"What kinds o' questions?"

Did he have to know _everything _that went on? Gwen too, it seemed, had decided against holding a serious conversation with him and offered a very vague response. He wasn't, however, content with it: insufferable man.

"What about you, Miss O'Brien?" he called across the servants' hall.

It took Anna by surprise; she had hardly noticed that the lady's maid was present until it was pointed out to her. Miss O'Brien looked up with something of a start, evidently surprised herself.

"What about me?" she asked.

"Has Mrs Hughes been poking her nose into your business recently?"

"No more than usual,"she remarked dryly.

"No but she's about to." 

At the sound of the housekeeper's voice the inhabitants of the table jumped out of their skins and tried to leap to their feet at the same time. Turning around, it appeared that both Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson had arrived almost unnoticed.

"Thomas, I'll thank you not to use such an unflattering verb again," she instructed.

Anna tried not to smile at the withering element in her voice.

"Miss O'Brien, I'd like to ask you something."

Her tone was balanced. She seemed to be waiting for Miss O'Brien to accompany her out of the room but she remained in her seat. Anna couldn't help but think that she looked almost as if she were paralysed in her seat. The housekeeper cleared her throat a little before continuing.

"Do you know anything about the vomit in the upstairs bathroom?"

Anna's mind went into overdrive as she tried to recall her interview with Mrs Hughes and the significance of all of these questions. The servants' hall was suddenly a deathly silent.

"What about it?"

The tone of it was sharp and guarded: far, far, far too guarded. Mrs Hughes blinked hard. So did Miss O'Brien, who seemed to have realised what she had just admitted to.

"It is you then?" Mrs Hughes asked cautiously.

There was very little point in lying with virtually the whole household now present and Miss O'Brien's silence indicated that she realised as much. Her cheeks glowed scarlet and Anna, momentarily forgetting exactly who this was, felt her heart go out for her.

"Miss O'Brien," it was Mr Carson who eventually broke the silence- Mrs Hughes was looking dumbstruck- "I think you had best come with us."

Anna got the feeling that there was a great deal of explaining to be done. Mrs Patmore's eyebrows raised alarmingly at the three retreating backs.

**I am back in business with the melodramatic plots. Please review if you have the time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**1.**

"Well, I think congratulations are in order."

The remark was nothing short of bizarre, but then again it did come from Thomas. A half-dozen enquiring looks turned his way.

"When you consider," he continued, "Mrs Hughes might have something serious on her hands now; after all the raves and rants we've had about daring to put a bloody toe over that precious door of hers we might actually have what a normal human being would consider a scandal this time."

Anyone, even Mrs Hughes- occasionally described by some factions as "the witch"- was preferable to Thomas at the moment and so his musing were universally ignored. He might just have a point, though, Anna thought: she recalled one instance when such a rave had been induced when her petticoat had been hung up to dry in an "immodest position".

"How long've they been in there for?" Mrs Patmore asked.

"A good half hour now," Gwen informed her with a glance at the clock.

Mrs Patmore looked disgusted.

"Ten minutes longer and I'll serve the supper regardless of where they are: some of us want to eat before dawn."

Activity- unable to proceed without three rather central members of staff- had ground to a halt. Everyone was hungry and too tired to find something constructive to do and so had settled themselves in idleness around the dining table: thank heaven that the family weren't entertaining tonight. The topics being discussed were limited to say the least.

"So she didn't say anything to you?" Gwen was the third person to address this question to Mrs Patmore, "About being in trouble?"

Mrs Patmore wiped her eye in weariness.

"No," she replied, perhaps not even realising the extent to which she was repeating herself, "Not a word."

"She's like that," Thomas remarked, "Wanting to know everyone else's business but not letting on so much as a whisper of hers."

It was a mark of how vehemently disliked Thomas had become that there seemed at that moment to be a universal unspoken assumption of Miss O'Brien's defence when being criticised by him.

"You'd do well to be kinder to the girl, Thomas," Mrs Patmore told him with a sternness to rival Mrs Hughes, "I don't think any of us know what's been going on with her recently; but it can't have been much good and it won't get better any time soon."

His snort was clearly audible.

"She's brought it on herself," he retorted with his usual air of superior knowledge.

Mrs Patmore's eyes narrowed alarmingly.

"How would you know that?" she asked testily.

"It's in her nature," he remarked without hesitation or further elaboration, "It's a flaming disgrace, a disgrace on the house 'n all."

Mrs Patmore's impressive antagonism wasn't deterred in the slightest.

"And we all know how that could be avoided," she replied.

"For the last time woman!" Thomas suddenly sounded exasperated, "I'm not going to marry her! She's got herself into a mess and she can flaming well herself out of it."

"Some good friend you are."

Although Anna could see where the cook was coming from- Thomas was being rather harsh on Miss O'Brien even by his standards- she wasn't altogether sure that he and Miss O'Brien- Guy Fawkes and his assistant or not- were a romance made in heaven.

"We don't actually know that there's anything wrong," Mr Bates pointed out. It was the first contribution he had made to the discussion.

Everyone seemed to pause for a moment, thinking it over. It was true; all they knew for certain was that Mrs Hughes had been asking funny questions, Miss O'Brien knew that someone had been sick and that she had been talking to the butler and housekeeper for just over half an hour now.

"Excuse me?" 

They all turned to the new voice at the doorway. It was Lady Sybil; shocked, they all lept to their feet.

"I'm sorry,"she began almost shyly, looking out of place in the greyish downstairs in her pretty evening dress, "But Papa has been ringing the bell for the butler's pantry for a while now and Mama sent me down to see what the matter was."

In the absence of butler and housekeeper, Mrs Patmore assumed the role of head of house with vigour.

"I'm very sorry, my Lady, but both he and Mrs Hughes are in the house keeper's sitting room with Miss O'Brien. They have been for almost forty minutes."

Lady Sybil looked as confused as the rest of them were feeling.

"What on earth are they doing?" she asked but with more curiosity than incredulity or displeasure.

"We're not sure, my Lady," Mrs Patmore admitted; considering carefully before adding, "I don't believe she's been well recently."

"Oh, really? Mama didn't say."

The girl- the more intuitive of the three by far- didn't look as if she was altogether satisfied with the explanation but did not question it; she didn't get the chance for she was joined by another gracefully clad figure in the doorway.

"Sybil?"

Lady Grantham looked in confusion at the small crowd now assembled.

"Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson have been talking to Miss O'Brien," her daughter informed, "Apparently she's not been well."

Lady Grantham turned to Mrs Patmore.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked the cook, not unkindly but firmly.

Mrs Patmore looked as if she didn't quite know how to answer, but it was a direct question and couldn't be ignored.

"I believe," she replied in the end, "That she's been sick."

"Only sick?" Lady Grantham wanted to know.

"As far as I'm aware."

The mistress of the house looked deeply uneasy.

"She didn't say anything to me," she remarked, almost looking let down in some way.

It was the first time that it occurred to Anna that Lady Grantham might be genuinely fond of her maid.

"Do you think Mrs Hughes would let me talk to her?"

"I shouldn't think she'll stop you," Mrs Patmore replied, "She is your maid, after all."

Lady Grantham nodded and, followed at a small distance by her daughter, allowed Mrs Patmore to lead her to the door of the housekeeper's sitting room; watched by all present. The cook knocked clearly and, after a pause, the door was opened. From where she sat Anna could just about see that Mrs Hughes stood in the doorway.

"Good evening, my Lady," she heard the housekeeper say, the surprise at the sight of her mistress evident.

"Good evening, Mrs Hughes," her Ladyship replied pleasantly, "Might I ask what is the matter with my lady's maid?" 

Mrs Hughes obviously hadn't been expecting such a forward enquiry from the usually highly delicate Lady Grantham. There was a rather uncomfortable silence, and then:

"I think you'd better ask her yourself."

Anna was just able to perceive a raised eyebrow on her Ladyship's face before Mrs Hughes moved to allow her to enter the sitting room. Lady Sybil, despite her earlier curiosity, seemed to have been sobered up by the arrival of her mother and dwindled at the door seemingly undecided as to whether or not to follow. She seemed to exchange a glance with Mrs Patmore and judging by the fact that she then decided to return upstairs, the cook's expression told her either that she would be best off not knowing or that she would find out soon enough anyway.

**2.**

Robert's questioning look upon his wife's re-entering the dining room had been answered with the "I'll tell you later" look. Now alone, he took the chance to question her. He noticed that it had been Anna who came to attend to her before bed.

"What was all that business at dinner?" he asked, "How were you and Sybil gone for so long?" 

She gave a very generic answer about there being "problems in the kitchens" as she drew back the covers and climbed into bed beside him. There were only ever "problems in the kitchens" when she wanted to avoid telling him what was going on.

"What's the real reason?" he asked, determined not to give in easily, "And why was it Anna who saw to you tonight? What's the matter with O'Brien?"

His wife sighed heavily. He looked at her in concern; her hand supported her head as if she were weary in some way.

"Robert," she began with an apparently difficulty, "It seems that she's pregnant."

He hoped she didn't see his jaw almost drop clear out of its socket.

"How?"

His wife tilted her head to raise her eyebrows at him.

"Well, not how," he corrected himself hastily, "You know what I mean. Are you sure? O'Brien? That can't possibly be-..." 

"She said so herself, Robert," she told him firmly, "I heard it with my own ears or else I don't think I'd have believed it either."

Robert was finding it hard to articulate himself.

"But surely she isn't the sort who'd...?" he wondered, "She's the last one I'd have put down to have a, a gentleman caller or whatever Mrs Hughes calls it."

"I thought I'd seen that woman livid before," his wife remarked, obviously meaning the housekeeper, "But tonight... even Carson looked frightened." 

"I'm not surprised. On both counts."

Cora smiled humourlessly.

"It's a terrible position to be in," she told him, "For us too as much as her. How will she ever manage?" 

"Can we even keep her on?" he asked.

"Where would she go?" his wife asked incredulously.

"Perhaps she'll get married."

Somehow it seemed ludicrous before it even left his mouth and he was sure he earned the look of mild disbelief he received. Nevertheless he attempted to defend himself.

"Well, a baby doesn't just spring out of nowhere!" he felt the need to point out, "There must be someone!"

"Yes, and no one seems to be able to tell me who."

"Perhaps it's that Thomas," he suggested, then, "Goodness I hope not, their child would have a devil's disposition."

"Don't be so unkind to her, Robert. Fair enough she has her faults; I think that's become more than clear this evening but she is fond of me."

"She's fond of you because it keeps her fed."

"She would get on rather well with your sister, then."

One, nil Lady Grantham. She shuffled a little to lie down.

"Go to sleep, Robert. We'll talk about this in the morning. I imagine the house'll talk of nothing else."

**Thank you for your lovely lovely reviews for chapter one. Please review this part if you have the time. **


	3. Chapter 3

**1.**

Lady Grantham sighed heavily, tapping her fingers on the surface of her dressing table as she waited for Anna to finish sorting out her day clothes. The girl was nice enough but it wasn't quite the same as having one's own maid there. Perhaps it was all just some terrible mistake and everything would be all right: even after a night's sleep her brain was still pounding with problems and complications. But then, she reflected, it could be worse; at least this was a servant, rather- casting her mind back... however many lifetimes ago Mr Pamuk had visited- than one of her daughters.

"Your Ladyship?"

She glanced up at the sound of Anna's voice; realising that she had been lost in thought. Sighing, she corrected her posture.

"Did your Ladyship sleep well?" the maid asked.

"Tolerably," she replied, being generous but knowing that the circles under her eyes probably belied her, "Do you know how O'Brien is this morning?"

Anna ran the brush through her hair.

"I haven't seen her, your Ladyship, but Mrs Hughes had Mrs Patmore take her some breakfast to her. I think the doctor's coming to see her later on."

"How are Mrs Hughes' nerves?" she asked with a small smile to herself.

This the maid was able to answer with an infinitely greater degree of certainty.

"Exercised half to death. Mr Carson was as worried about her yesterday evening as he was about Miss O'Brien."

That was no surprise, Cora reflected for a moment on the inseparability of the butler and housekeeper.

"Mrs Hughes hasn't... she hasn't been to hard on O'Brien, has she?" she asked cautiously.

Anna frowned, reaching for the hairpins.

"No, but I expect she will be the second the shock dies down and what's happened really hits her."

Cora frowned. While she knew she should strictly condone Mrs Hughes' disapproval and consolidate it with her own, she was ultimately reluctant to do so. Which was absurd because she wasn't inclined to be so lenient over things like this. She thought fleetingly of her own baby boy... perhaps her own painfully recent memories of expectant motherhood were the cause of her softness.  
"The girls don't know anything, do they, Anna?" she asked.

"No, your Ladyship," she replied, settling her hair in place and fetching the perfume bottle, " Mrs Hughes said we weren't to say anything to them."

"Quite right."

Once the girls knew, it was only a matter of time before Robert's mother knew. And then the forces of moral high-ground presently being asserted by Mrs Hughes would double. It had been fortunate that Sybil had chosen to return to go back to dinner last night, but then she mustn't underestimate her youngest daughter; she probably knew something more sinister than illness was afoot. Then again, she had probably already found something out form Branson. That gave her a thought.

"Miss O'Brien's not usually one to get into trouble with men," she declared aloud to Anna.

"No, my Lady," the maid agreed, "But then, Thomas said..."

"What did Thomas say?"

Had that irksome man not gone yet?- she thought. But then that was unfair, to wish a young man away to war. She didn't wish he had to go and risk his life but she did wish he'd stop causing trouble among her servants.

"He said something like she'd brought it on herself, or some such," Anna struggled to remember exactly what it was, "None of us really paid attention, we just assumed he was all talk." 

Cora sniffed and stood to be dressed.

"He probably was," she agreed.

**2.**

"Daisy? Has the doctor been yet?"

"He's up there now, Mr Carson," the kitchen maid replied, heaving a bucket of water over to the table.

"Have you seen Mrs Hughes?" he asked.

"I think she's in there with them."

He nodded his thanks and turned to leave the kitchen. Pacing down the corridor toward his pantry he let out a sigh, thinking of the state of rapid fluctuation downstairs seemed to be in. However, his moment of solitary reflection was short-lived: before he had entered his pantry, the figure of the housekeeper descended the stairs looking thoroughly worn out. Catching sight of his hovering in his doorway she saw her chance to escape and inevitable questioning from the rest of their colleagues and quickly followed him. He shut the door behind them.

"Well?"

Before the question had left his mouth she had sunk into the nearest armchair with rather alarming speed. Perhaps he was conducting this interview in the wrong order.

"Are you all right?" he asked somewhat warily.

She looked shattered.

"I need a drink," she told him bluntly.

He crossed to the cupboard and supplied her with some of his single malt- kept for special occasions and particular emergencies- which she knocked back with impressive speed.

"Do _you _need to see the doctor?" he asked.

She gave him a small smile.

"I've already sent him away. Just in case you asked."

He tried not to roll his eyes at her.

"What did he have to say?" he asked, hoping they might to get back to the business in hand.

The exhaustion in her expression seemed to multiply.

"No mistakes," she informed him grimly, "She's nearly a month and a half gone."

He sighed heavily. So did she.

"You mustn't blame yourself," he told her, "You can't keep an eye on them all every hour of the day and night."

"But she's my responsibility while she's here. Heaven only knows what her Ladyship must think of me."

He had seen her Ladyship at breakfast time and she had been most careful to ask how Mrs Hughes was faring after the night before. He told her as much and said he didn't think her Ladyship blamed her either. She seemed a little heartened by this, but still ultimately concerned. This was confirmed when she held her glass out for another drink.

"Steady on," he warned her gently but still obliged. After the day she must have had it was a wonder she hadn't been on the drink by luncheon.

"Then there's what on earth we're going to do," she continued, having knocked her second drink back in a similar performance to the first, "If it were just a housemaid, it would be up to me whether she stayed or went; but her Ladyship's maid's a different thing. It'll have to be her decision in the end and I can't see her sending her away if she's got no place to go. Where would we put a baby in the servants' quarters?"

For once, the logistics of where everyone would be at what time was not his foremost concern.

"How old is Miss O'Brien?" he wanted to know.

Mrs Hughes thought a moment.

"Can't be much younger than forty-five," she replied.

"And the doctor thinks she'll be able to have a child safely?" he asked, "It must be possible, her Ladyship is- I'm sure she won't mind me saying- about that age and I seem to remember that he was optimistic when she..."

He trailed off, remembering the events of not so long ago with something like compunction. Mrs Hughes looked at him almost sternly.

"Her Ladyship has a husband," she reminded him. Evidently she was talking about a different type of possible.

He sighed and decided that he may well have a drink himself.

**3.**

"I wish you'd tell us what's been going on, Anna."

Lady Mary's expression of innocent curiosity didn't fool her for a second and she remembered Mrs Hughes' instructions: no one who didn't need to know was to know.

"Not much, my Lady," she replied blandly.

"That's utter balderdash, Anna, and you know it!" Lady Sybil chirped, "What, for instance, was going on last night when I found you all sitting around downstairs?"

"I still can't believe you didn't go in with Mama to talk to O'Brien," Mary scolded her, "What you've got for brains, I'll never know."

Sybil scowled.

"What's wrong with O'Brien, Anna?" she asked, as her older sister had done.

Anna turned to that neither of them could see and quickly rolled her eyes.

"You'd best ask her," she told them, hoping her frustration didn't tell in her voice and make her sound impertinent.

"I would," Lady Sybil admitted, "Only I haven't seen hide nor hair of her all day. You'd think Mrs Hughes had her kept under lock and key."

That, Anna thought, probably wasn't that far from the truth.

"Where's Edith?" Sybil wondered aloud.

"Heaven only knows," her sister replied.

They were not kept in suspense for long: the question had scarcely been answered before the door clicked and Lady Edith entered, a look of excited glee on her plain features.

"Oh, you'll never guess what I've just heard," she announced, sitting beside Lady Mary on the bed.

Lady Mary, not unusually, looked as good as indifferent at her sister's excitement.

"I doubt we will," she remarked dryly.

Her sister ignored her disinterest as her enthusiasm had been ignored and turned instead to address Anna and Lady Sybil at the dressing table.

"One of the maids is pregnant!" she informed them barely able to contain herself.

Lady Sybil and even, for a fleeting moment before she controlled her features, Lady Mary looked shocked, impressed even.

"Oh my!" exclaimed Lady Sybil, and then, "I assume it is O'Brien, Anna?"

Anna smiled slightly.

"Well it isn't me," she told her, remembering that she wasn't strictly supposed to be saying anything.

The youngest daughter now looked somewhat confused. Anna knew she found O'Brien odious but it was well known throughout the house that Lady Sybil felt it her duty to help any of their employees who found themselves facing trouble.

"Who told you, Edith?" she asked, "We've been trying to get it out of Anna all afternoon."

"You've been trying," Lady Mary corrected her.

"That footman," Lady Edith replied. Anna's stomach dropped a whole notch, "Thomas, that's the one."

That bloody man...

"I thought Mrs Hughes had sworn all of you to secrecy?" Lady Sybil asked with a puzzled look at Anna.

"She has," Anna replied truthfully, "But he's leaving the day after tomorrow so I don't suppose he felt the need."

His disobedience obviously rang a bell with Lady Mary.

"I thought he and O'Brien were the best of friends?" she asked.

"Perhaps he's the father?" Lady Edith suggested, her glee seeming to have trebled.

Lady Mary snorted at the suggestion.

"Perhaps who's whose father?"

All four of them were surprised by the sound of Lady Grantham's voice at the door to the extent where all of their brains stopped working enough to find a reasonable alternative topic. They stood and sat in an awkward silence.

"I trust," Lady Grantham finally spoke, "That it wasn't you, Anna, who was indiscreet enough to inform this rabble?" she eyed her daughters with suspicion.

"No," Lady Sybil answered for her, "No, Mama, it was the footman Thomas."

Lady Grantham looked visibly cross, more so than Anna had ever seen her before and there was another protracted silence.

"Are you quite all right, Mama?" Lady Edith asked. Her tone of voice was unduly innocent and Anna thought she probably earned the scowl she received form Lady Mary.

Lady Grantham's face relaxed a little as she surveyed her daughter.

"Yes dear," she replied steadily, "But I'm not sure how much more speculation I can take. I think I'm going to ask Mrs Hughes if she'll let me talk to Miss O'Brien without her there breathing down our necks."

**Lengthy chapter, I know, but there should be some more plot-unfolding in the next one. Please review if you've got the time. **


	4. Chapter 4

**1.**

Having been curtly informed by Mrs Hughes that Lady Grantham wanted to speak to her, she was ushered into the housekeeper's sitting room and told to wait there. Which was silly, thinking about it; because if he'd been allowed to carry on as normal she would have seen Lady Grantham anyway. It was all Mrs Hughes' ploy to keep the shameful fallen woman out of sight, probably think whorish behaviour was contagious and as a result had managed to deplete her staff for the second day running, silly cow. She huffed, bored of being left alone to fester in a cantankerous mood and shifted restlessly in the uncomfortable chair.

No one had spoken to her properly for the whole of yesterday. Well, her conspiratorial chats with Thomas had been long since over and she hadn't exactly been expecting or wanting a sudden revival but since the evening before last she hadn't exchanged a civil word with anyone on the rest of the staff. Mrs Hughes had herded her around like a sheep- a lost sheep, she had thought to herself dryly-, Mr Carson had seemed completely clueless as to what to say to her and the other maids, on the occasions that she had happened to briefly see them had stared at her as if she were a creature in a zoo. Mrs Patmore had tried her best to be motherly when she deposited trays of food for her but she was distinctly awkward; almost as clueless as Mr Carson.

There was a tap at the door. She did not respond; she couldn't very well invite someone into a room that was not her own without feeling stupid. Fortunately the visitor didn't wait for a response anyway: Mrs Hughes opened the door and Sarah saw her Ladyship standing beside her.

"Dear Mrs Hughes," her Ladyship turned to the housekeeper. Sarah thought the term of endearment was a tad strong for the old witch, "Leave us alone for a while to talk. I will be sure to send for you if I feel you should be present."

Mrs Hughes nodded her consent, looking as if she couldn't wait to get away, and Sarah felt one last surge of contempt for her superior before the click of her Ladyship shutting the door snapped her back to the here and now. Her Ladyship hovered near the door, seeming to be unsure and smiling accordingly. Sarah wondered if she was calculating her approach as she had often admitted to doing at her dressing table with regard to any number of other unimportant matters. She had often wondered that she wasted the time with such calculations but now that she was the unimportant matter to approach she felt different: she no longer felt that the time would be ill spent but still rather wished she wouldn't.

Eventually, her Ladyship seemed to decide that her best immediate course of action was to sit down. Once she had, Sarah felt a little emboldened: they were on more of a level pegging at a similar height. Then, however, at an equal physical disadvantage, they fell into an awkward silence. At last her Ladyship opened her mouth.

"I wish you'd told me sooner, O'Brien," was all she could think of to say.

Sarah bristled.

"I can't see that it's any of your business, my Lady. It's me that has to carry the bugger around in me."

"Of course it's my business!" Lady Grantham smarted a little: Sarah wasn't sure if it was her flippancy towards her or towards her own child that provoked the vehemently cross reaction, "You're my lady's maid, I pay you. I have a right to know when you get yourself into trouble like this."

The former then. Sarah sighed: "getting yourself in trouble", "in a delicate condition"; couldn't they just say it outright that she was pregnant! Her Ladyship was watching her closely, apparently crossness having faded a little and looking more like concerned now.

"Besides, I worry about you, O'Brien. That's to say, I am worried now; I never used to," her Ladyship frowned heavily, "You've never done anything like this before."

Now how would you know that?- she wondered. How could Lady Grantham possibly know what she'd done like this before, what she was capable of? She clearly didn't, Sarah reflected; if she knew what she was truly capable of she certainly wouldn't be sitting here talking to her now. The nausea of compunction rose and faded: thinking of what she had done to this woman's own child only made that naïve but kind expression she was regarding her with all the more unbearable.

Her Ladyship was looking as if she was stirring herself to ask something rather flippant. Well let her, she thought, it certainly wouldn't be the first time.

"O'Brien," she began gently, "Who's the child's father?"

"I certainly can't see how that's anything to do with you," she replied curtly, "No one in this house, so you needn't worry." 

Lady Grantham didn't look shocked at the rebuke but more mildly hurt. Serve her right, Sarah thought savagely.

"You might want to marry him?" she suggested tentatively.

"He's not the marrying sort," was the politest way of summing up his detractions and she told her Ladyship so bluntly, "And you can tell Mrs Hughes that 'n all," she added for good measure.

Her Ladyship shook her head.

"I'm not here because Mrs Hughes wants me to be," she told her, "I'm here because I care that my lady's maid's in trouble."

Sarah closed her eyes tightly and did not respond to the remark: the earnestness of her mistress's concern more than she wanted to consider.

**2.**

"I here your lady's maid's gone and got herself pregnant."

Ever to the point, the Dowager Countess, Cora thought. She closed her eyes and counted to five.

"Yes," she replied, her calming exercise possibly causing it to come out too brightly.

Her mother-in-law frowned.

"I suppose, then, that I'm grateful than mine only ran off and left me to get married. Though," she added with a small laugh to her two companions, "I here your doesn't even want to leave _now. _Imagine!"

Mrs Crawley frowned over her tea cup from the other side of the table.

"How is she today?" she asked, in her usual motherly tones, "Dr Clarkson said she seemed quite run down yesterday."

"Well naturally, she would be," the Dowager remarked, seeming to forget that until recently she had been fond of O'Brien, "Concealing it studiously from everyone for the past two months must have been rather strenuous!"

Cora frowned reproof at her mother-in-law but didn't dare say anything- there was always another remark ready.

"She's better today," she informed Mrs Crawley, "I spoke to her this morning."

"Of course in my day, the housekeeper would have never let her get away with it," Lady Violet was saying, "You really ought to speak to Mrs Hughes, you know."

"I can assure you that Mrs Hughes has acted splendidly throughout the whole affair," she retorted swiftly, refusing to let her _whole _household be bad mouthed during one meal, "I couldn't wish for a finer housekeeper."

Lady Violet muttered something under her breath about how no one had a clue about what they were doing these days.

"I wonder," Cora remarked, her frustration peaking at last, "That Sybil said anything to you at all. She ought to have known that it would distress would so."

"Actually, it was dear Edith who informed me," the Dowager corrected, "I was lucky to get so much as a word out of Sybil."

Cora saw approval of the youngest of the house flash momentarily in Mrs Crawley's face and smiled to herself.

"Can't you have one of the footmen marry her?" Lady Violet asked, "It's probably down to one of them that she's in this mess in the first place. Or if one of them try Molesley," she indicated casually towards Mrs Crawley, "He's a fine enough fellow."

Mrs Crawley sat up a little straighter.

"Forgive me but I'm relatively unaccustomed to marrying my staff of to each other," she replied smartly.

"No, I don't suppose you've ever had quite enough staff to be able to."

Why, Cora wondered incredulously to herself, had she thought that inviting Mrs Crawley and the Dowager Countess to tea together on today of all days was a good idea!

**3.**

There was a tap on her door, not unusual, she had retired early. It was probably Anna or Gwen come looking for some spare thread and unable to find Mrs Hughes and so she called them to enter. Much to her surprise, Thomas slunk quickly into the room and shut the door. She tried to appear as if she wasn't surprised.

"Haven't you left yet?" she asked coolly.

He ignored her.

"Have you spoken to him yet?" he asked brusquely.

The directness of the question startled her, she supposed she had grown unused to it after these days of old women carefully stepping around her.

"No," she answered curtly.

"Does he even know?" Thomas asked.

"Unless he's got psychic powers."

Her sarcasm frustrated him: it always had when she wasn't using it for his benefit.

"I can't believe you haven't," he muttered, "After all he's done for you."

"Yes, a right fine mess he's got me into," she threw back at him. It was nice to take her crossness out on him, after having kept it in for too many days.

"That's no way to treat the man you _love,_" he sneered.

"What do you care?" she asked incredulously, "Never been too keen on him before, have you?"

"He won't be around much longer," he pointed out.

She closed her eyes: of that she was painfully aware and it was wicked of his to bring it up.

"You'd better get out of here before Mrs Hughes finds you and questions you at length as to your intentions with me," she warned him; amazingly the old witch's meddling worked in her favour for once.

Thomas looked flustered from the speed of their argument.

"Tell him, or I will."

With that he left. She slammed the door behind him for good measure and sank down against it; hands over her face.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	5. Chapter 5

**1.**

Elsie was woken by the most awful distinctive sound. She groaned a little; looking up at the darkness of the morning sky it couldn't be time to get up yet and she flopped momentarily back against her mattress, telling herself she would be perfectly justified in staying there. But then it came again and she knew she wouldn't possibly be able to drift off. She sighed and threw the covers back, reaching for her shawl hanging over the iron bedstead as she got up. Wrapping it around herself and shivering a little at the draft, she left her room and made her way a little way down the corridor to the bathroom. Everyone else seemed to be sound asleep.

Although she fully knew what to expect, the sight of Miss O'Brien in her nightgown kneeling on the floor, head next to the toilet bowl came as a mild shock to her. Perhaps it was the grim reality of witnessing it first hand. She hovered in the doorway, unsure of what exactly to do. It seemed, however, the she could not pass unnoticed. Heaving a great breath, Miss O'Brien turned to glance over her shoulder. Elise felt something like pity at her sideways expression: she looked past exhausted.

"If you're going to loiter there, you might as well make yourself useful."

Still the same Miss O'Brien, then, she thought, ever the polite one. But she felt she could understand where her brusque attitude came from in this case: everyone had a certain right to mild impertinence when kneeling on the floor feeling nauseous.

"What can I do?" she asked, moving hesitantly further into the room.

"Water."

The lady's maid pointed to the empty glass resting on the edge of the sink. Elsie washed it out before refilling it and handing it back to her. She was barely able to take a drink from it before she retched again, Elsie swiftly relieving her of the glass as she bent back over the toilet bowl. After a while her activity subsided.

"Do you want to take the morning off?" Elsie asked gently, thinking that if she felt anywhere near as bad as she looked she would be of little use anyway.

To her surprise, Miss O'Brien shook her head as she wiped her chin with a flannel and gestured for the water again.

"What's the point?" she asked, "I'll sitting around feeling sorry for meself. Besides, I'll feel right as reign come breakfast time."

That would be a fine thing, Elsie thought but didn't say anything. If Miss O'Brien was indeed staying on she would probably have to get used to working while absolutely worn out, poor child. Her sympathy surprised her, in both its presence in the first place and its strength. Crouching down beside the lady's maid now, without really thinking about it she lifted Miss O'Brien's hair to rest behind her shoulders to keep it out of the way. She didn't even seem to notice the motherly gesture.

Another fit of nausea overcame her and she lurched forward again.

"There, there, Sarah."

Elsie gently patted her colleague's back, feeling it trembling slightly. The sky had grown light by the time Miss O'Brien had recovered enough for them to return to their rooms.

**2.**

"Dear me, Mrs Hughes, you look half asleep!"

I am, Elsie thought, oh Lord, I am! She tried to smile apologetically at Lady Grantham but had a feeling that it didn't come across as very genuine.

"I'm sorry, your Ladyship. We had something of a crisis downstairs this morning."

"Ah. Thomas leaving?" 

That hadn't been exactly what she was referring- in fact to her that Thomas was out from under her feet was the antithesis of a crisis- but she thought it best to go along with this to spare Miss O'Brien's embarrassment.

"Quite so, your Ladyship."

"Well, personally- although I really shouldn't say this- but I think we might be better off, for the immediate future without any further complications. With regard to this business with O'Brien that is. I'm informed that he's the reason my daughters know about it and through that Lady Violet has got wind of it and, well, you know Lady Violet. Always very eager to disapprove"

Her Ladyship smiled sadly up at the housekeeper, both asking for sympathy and offering her own in return. Elsie couldn't, however, help but feel that her Ladyship was getting at something with her allusion to the Dowager Countess's disapproval.

"Your Ladyship," she began uneasily, "I realise that my role in this... this whole affair hasn't exactly been exemplary," she swallowed a little before continuing, "I am so very sorry your Ladyship. Had it not been for my negligence then maybe-..." 

Her Ladyship held up her hand to silence her.

"Don't think on it, Mrs Hughes, don't think on it for one minute. I'm as likely as you to have noticed that something was afoot, she's my maid after all. You can try as hard as you can to keep young women in order but there's some you just can't stop. Look at Lady Sybil."

What about Lady Sybil? she briefly wondered. Then she remembered: the youngest of the house was chasing after Mr Branson. Before this affair that had been the in vogue disapproval of the more senior ladies at Downton; it seemed to have paled into insignificance now. She half-smiled at her Ladyship's understanding tones, but swiftly resumed a business-like manner.

"What's to be done, your Ladyship? We can't go back in time and stop this from happening, but at least we can make the best of it."

Her Ladyship nodded soundly.

"I agree with you, of course I do, but I'm reluctant to settle the rest of O'Brien's life for her."

Why not? Elsie briefly wondered, she seems incapable of settling it for herself, but said nothing.

"We don't really know enough at the moment to take any action," Elsie pointed out hopelessly.

"Perhaps not, but I get the feeling things might settle down a bit considerably with Thomas gone."

Somehow, Elsie got the feeling that Lady Grantham knew something she didn't.

"My Lady?"

"I overheard two of the maids," she confessed, "Daisy and Gwen earlier on. They seem to think that Thomas was in O'Brien's room and there seemed to have been a pretty frank discussion going on, from what they said."

Elsie drew herself up to her full modest height: the irritation was not to be endured. Answers had to be got and, damn it, she would get them.

**3.**

"There you go lass, get that down you." 

Mrs Patmore, having strongly advocated that the expectant mother eat not only for two but for about ten, set the enormous plate of supper down in front of Miss O'Brien. She didn't feel hungry, only weary: she needed to sleep in case another early-morning bathroom expedition was required. Feeling the cook's eyes on her, however, she took her fork and began to pick at the mountain of mashed potato.

Noise hummed around them, in the temporary absence of the housekeeper chatter buzzed at a frivolous level. Mr Bates was talking to Gwen about the job she was leaving for in a few days, prompting exuberant responses both from her as she answered his questions and from Anna, Daisy and Lily proclaiming how much they would miss her. She closed her eyes praying for quiet.

"You don't look well, Miss O'Brien," William remarked quite kindly across the table.

Heads turned to inspect her.

"I'm not," she reminded him.

"Perhaps it would be best if you took your supper in my pantry," Mr Carson suggested, "It's quieter in there. William, get Miss O'Brien a tray."

Mr Bates rose to get it as he was nearer. Lifting her dish and glass of water onto it, she left her seat wondering how Mr Carson, who was so clueless at other times had been her saviour at that moment. Perhaps the old witch had given him a crash course in dealing with irritated females. But then, the old witch had seemed less witch-like, this morning anyway.

Sarah headed down the corridor, pushing gently on the door to the pantry. The sound of approaching footsteps- too loud to ignore- halted her: what now? She turned to see Mrs Hughes standing imperiously before her, all the venom of a witch appearing to have returned with a fury. She couldn't help but feel daunted.

"Miss O'Brien," the housekeeper announced, "You're going to eat that in my sitting room. I want some answers."

**A very Mrs H centric chapter, I know, but I'm tired and she's the only one I can write moderately well when I'm tired. Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**1.**

Mrs Hughes' voice rang clearly, without- they suspected- her knowledge, down the corridor and into the servants' hall. There was a deathly silence as everyone present listened to the sound of footsteps fading away and the door to the housekeeper's sitting room clicking shut. There was a tense moment during which, Anna thought, everyone exchanged a variety of furtive glances with just about everyone else at the table. It was a toss up, she guessed, between Daisy and Mrs Patmore as to who would gave in to temptation and firmly stick their ears to the door.

"Do you suppose we could get a glass?"

Daisy, than. If the servants' hall hadn't been so still she would have got away with murmuring it to Gwen without anyone else hearing but she had no such luck. Mr Carson gave her a stern look.

"Don't even think about it," he warned, "In fact," he continued, standing, "I think it would probably be best if we all went to bed as soon as we've finished our supper."

So serious was his tone that everyone else reapplied themselves to eating with remarkable vigour, dispersing as soon as they were finished. Mr Carson, she suspected, waited until everyone else had left to ensure that there were no loiterers.

**2.**

The dish of supper lay ignored on the table. How was she, Sarah wondered, ever supposed to eat with Mrs Hughes staring at her so imperiously? She looked at her hands in an attempt to avoid the gaze, only to have the voice get her:

"Miss O'Brien," the tone was not as severe as she had expected but still had an uncompromising edge to it, "I really must insist that you tell me what has been going on."

She said nothing, she didn't know how to begin. What did the housekeeper expect her to say? Naturally, she wanted to get away with revealing as little as possible and didn't want to set herself back by beginning at the wrong point and Mrs Hughes growing still more curious.

"Really, Miss O'Brien. I want to help you, as best I can, at any rate."

Yes, although she might not have a few days ago, she did believe the housekeeper to be sincere. She raised her head a fraction, then:

"Where do you want me to begin?"

Although she still didn't look at Mrs Hughes she sensed a half-satisfied bristle at the notion that they were finally getting somewhere, then a quiet throat-clearing.

"You could start by telling me who the father is," was the pointed suggestion.

A direct question: oh. She took a breath, deciding that looking at her superior might be useful at this point. Mrs Hughes unwittingly wore an expression of the utmost trepidation.

"No one you know," she supplied, rather bitterly.

She was having none of it: trepidation snapped into a look that practically shouted "Oh just tell me!" Another breath.

"His name is James."

A pause. The housekeeper frowned.

"Could you possibly be a little more specific."

So Mrs Hughes could do tersely mild sarcasm too.

"Thomas's brother James."

She regretted not looking away quick enough to witness Mrs Hughes' face near on falling off at the sheer shock. Well, she had asked a direct question and received a direct answer- what had she expected? The pause that followed was uncomfortably protracted. Finally, the housekeeper seemed to recover the power of speech.

"I didn't even know that Thomas had a brother," she finally managed to remark, her voice a good semitone higher than it had previously been.

"He has," Sarah confirmed somewhat stupidly.

Mrs Hughes nodded, apparently in something of a daze; looking as if she was about to say something else, but unable to get any words out; her mind evidently calculating nineteen to the dozen.

"And, when," she asked at last, "When did you... did you manage to see Thomas's brother?"

"A month and a half ago," she reeled back what Dr Clarkson had proclaimed upon examining her.

It didn't wash with Mrs Hughes however; the older woman raised an eyebrow, asking to be given a more specific answer.

"All right. If you must know, it was the day that I had a day off." 

Her job being such a perpetual occupation, the days that Sarah was able to take off were few and far between. However, having just returned from London, her Ladyship had thought it fairest to allow her maid a Saturday off to recuperate.

"I see."

Somehow Sarah didn't quite think she did.

**3.**

As soon as she could she all but ran from the room. It was too much to bear, sitting there with Mrs Hughes' accusing stare piercing her with every movement. She even thought that Mrs Hughes didn't mean to be accusing, she just couldn't help herself. She couldn't help but judge what Sarah had done. What did she know? What could an old spinster of a housekeeper tell her about life? A succession of placid evenings with her knitting or maybe the odd clumsy fumbling with Mr Carson when they thought no one was looking, nothing more than that. But now she was being bitter, and she knew it; even feeling a pang of regret for thinking that of Mrs Hughes, who had at least tried to be kind today. Once tightly secured in her own room, not bothering to undress aside from kicking her shoes off, she threw herself under her bed covers; half-wishing that they would suffocate her as she slept.

_It had been a surprise to receive a letter, it was true, she didn't get many. Still greater was the surprise when she realised who it was from. Of all the absurd times for a man to come crawling back out of the woodwork, but then men were funny buggers. She glanced at Thomas, but he had received no correspondence today and sat absent-mindedly stirring his tea. No grand and glorious family reunions, then: just the two of them. She folded the letter back into the envelope and tucked it into her pocket; it would be altogether better if he didn't get wind of it at all. _

_Unable to think amid the hum of breakfast time, she set off for a slow ascent of the stairs to see to her Ladyship. What an absurd thing...Why on earth should she want to meet him? Why would he think she would? They hadn't exactly departed on amiable terms. Funny bloody bugger. An still more astonishingly, she found herself considering it: she wasn't on unfriendly terms with Mrs Frobisher, the milliner, and her husband worked in Ripon. It wouldn't be difficult to ask him to take her there that Saturday: the recent death of a rich relation had left them the proud yet slightly miffed owners of a motorcar. _

_She hadn't seen him... how long would it be? As long as she'd been a lady's maid at Downton, her promotion from housemaid was around the time of the last time he'd visited Thomas. Ten years. Blimey, she thought, laughing to herself, you certainly know how to keep 'em, Sarah, having one seek you out after ten bloomin' years. But then, she took the letter out of her pocket and re-examined it, he hadn't said anything about their... understanding, so to speak, he had just said Meet me. Informative as ever, she thought, replacing it before knocking on her Ladyship's door._

_Of course, after much to-ing and fro-ing of mental debate, she found herself in a Ripon tea room on Saturday, fairly sure that she should be somewhere else, anywhere else. What had she been thinking? She was sitting in her best hat and coat in a tea room waiting for a man she hadn't seen for ten years, and God only knew what she was going to say to him when he got there! They had never been good at holding civil conversations with each other: it was in neither of their natures and, when the time came, there hadn't been much time for talking anyway. Their affair having broken up all those years ago she had taken the chance to go away with his younger brother into service, half-heartedly and- she was ashamed to admit- in the dark recesses of her mind, probably scheming to have a shot at Thomas too. She snorted into her tea: her intentions to make advances on Thomas were about as successful as her relationship with his brother had been. "Child-hood sweethearts" some people called it; "kiddies being fools" was, in her mind, a more accurate description._

"_Hello, Sarah."_

_She almost choked on her tea this time. The voice came from behind her and she craned her neck to see who it came from, although there was little doubt in her mind as to who she would find standing there, she had come to meet him after all. She didn't stand up but waited for him to sit opposite her. He was a handsome beggar, she had to give him that over his brother, even after this decade had elapsed. _

"_Can I 'ave some of this tea?"_

_Cheeky too, he helped himself before she answered. Inwardly she rolled her eyes, as to do so externally would make him too pleased with himself._

"_Hello, James."_

_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/_

"_So 'ow is me dear brother, then?" _

_At the arrival of their teacakes they had established that they were both in tolerable health an still, despite their respective shortcomings- which remained little changed since their last meeting- in respectable employment. She took a sip of her tea._

"_What, Thomas? Much the same as ever," she replied._

_He grinned at his plate. It was a nice grin, you never saw Thomas grin except when scheming, she thought. _

"_Thought he would be."  
_

_There was a pause._

"_How's your mother?" she asked carefully._

"_Surprised you want to know," he remarked, but not severely._

"_Well, the old bag never did like me," she reminded him shortly, "Didn't think I was good enough for either of her blessed sons."_

_He carried on smiling aimlessly._

"_No change there, then. I've told her I'm here on business."_

"_And she believed that?"_

_The only business she had ever heard him interested in was other people's. Perhaps it ran in the family. _

"_She'd believe anything of me, blessed son, remember?"_

"_And why did you come here?"_

_The directness of the question she'd been wondering how to ask surprised her, but she hoped she didn't show it._

_He hitched a smile onto his face._

"_See you, of course," he scoffed._

"_You know what I mean," she told him rather sharply, "Why'd you want to see me, James?"_

_He was quiet for a moment, thoughtfully stirring his tea. When he looked at her his expression was such a mixture that it was almost unreadable._

"_I suppose you know there's a war coming?" he asked casually, "You ought to, every sensible __person seems to have caught on by now."  
_

_She didn't bother nodding, she knew he'd understand her without it._

"_Well, I'm hardly going to get out of that one," he grinned again, but there was something bitter in it this time, "And the more I think on it I don't want to either: wouldn't feel right, y'know?"_

_She remained silent._

"_I wanted to see you, Sarah. Before I go. Let's face it, I might never have the chance to again."_

_It sounded stupid but it suddenly occurred to her that people die in wars. They go away and they don't come back. She had realised, certainly she had, that war was painted on the horizon but never that people she knew would go to it, and if they did that mightn't return. Suddenly she knew what all of the the fuss was about. There was nothing, in light of that, that she could really think of to say._

"_I wanted to see you," he clarified, "Call it sentiment, or some rubbish like that. All I know is I couldn't think of leaving without seeing you first."_

_And, though it defied all aspects of her character, she was suddenly seized by the urge to cry. Ridiculous woman, she thought. He was watching her closely so she tried to smile. I wonder where he's staying, she thought._

_Did she really just think that? Was she trying to get herself out of corset before the afternoon was out?_

"_James, where are you living at the moment?"_

_Yes, evidently she was. Though she had said it in a voice barely above a whisper, she knew he'd heard her. And he didn't need telling what it meant._

"_Come on," he told her, slipping some money onto the table. _

_He reached for her hand and she stood on her feet to follow._

**I've probably disappointed you all drastically. Please tell me what you think: there is more to come if you want it.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry I've been pathetic these past few days.**

**1.**

"So that is what Mrs Hughes said, is it?" Robert asked for clarification.

Cora thought it a little impolite of him, the housekeeper was- after all- in the room, but given his present state of distraction thought it was probably forgiveable. It transpired, when Lady Grantham glanced apologetically in her direction, that Mrs Hughes hadn't been paying close enough attention to Robert to take offence anyway. Cora nodded.

"Yes," she replied, "That is exactly what she said O'Brien told her."

Robert paced three strides in thought. Thankfully, the small but pointed reverberation of the sole of his shoes on the wood seemed to bring Mrs Hughes a little more down to earth; she gave her head the slightest of shakes, seeming to sharpen herself up.

"So," Robert began, addressing not only his wife this time but both women, "If the young man in question has indeed left... for France, then we find ourselves in something of a predicament."

Cora raised an eyebrow.

"Do we?"

Her husband turned with a small but noticeable degree of sharpness back towards her.

"Of course we do," he told her firmly but not unkindly, "It would of course been ideal to have him marry her."

"With all respect, your Lordship," both husband and wife turned as the previously mute Mrs Hughes spoke, "I don't think the problem would have been getting the young man to agree to the marriage, we'd have had far more trouble getting Miss O'Brien to."

Try as she might, Cora couldn't stop herself grinning at her shoes: that certainly sounded like O'Brien. Robert huffed audibly.

"Is there no one else that she would take?" he asked, mild frustration creeping into his voice now, "What about Molesley from Crawley house?"

"I don't think Mrs Crawley would be all that pleased," Cora told him, remembering her conversation with her and the Dowager Countess.

Robert's discontent grew with his frown.

"What about Carson, then?" he suggested wildly.

This, Cora felt, was sufficiently ridiculous to merit her openly scoffing at it.

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him sharply, "You know no one would believe it. Most of the house knows he's in love with Mrs Hughes."

Robert looked as if he was about to ask what it was that people had to believe, but was stopped by the sound of the housekeeper clearing her throat. Caught up in there terse discussion they hadn't quite remembered what they were saying: Cora felt momentarily horrified at her slip of the tongue and Robert looked awkward to the point of wanting to throw himself out of the first floor window. They waited quietly for the housekeeper to assert herself- in this instance Cora felt it wouldn't be at all inappropriate for their servant to given them a good and proper scolding. But nothing came: Mrs Hughes stared down at her shoes and seemed to be smiling. After a moment, Robert cleared his own throat and then continued cautiously.

"So, we don't ask her to get married. Then what do we do?"

His wife was silent for a moment, then gave the answer that had been brewing in her head all morning.

"Nothing," she replied, "Allow her to continue working, as much as she can and when the child is born find a room in the servants' quarters to be a nursery, I'm sure Mrs Hughes will be able to work out the particulars of the arrangement."

Robert looked momentarily uncomfortable.

"But what will people say?" he asked, "It can't be good for the house if it got around that your lady's maid had... had had an illegitimate child."

Lady Grantham bowed her head, knowing that the response she would like to give was impossible. What was the reputation of a _house_? The English really were the most absurd... far worse than anyone in New York had ever been, though she never thought she'd say it. It had taken this to make her see it: what was the reputation of a house if it meant the people in the house were miserable? None of it made any sense. Her husband looked at her expectantly.

"O'Brien deserves a second chance," she told him firmly, "I can't cast her out because of a mistake she's made."

After the business with Mary, she thought, there's no way I can, it's nothing short of a miracle that we haven't had this conversation about our own daughter before. Robert was looking at her not quite incredulously, but with definite surprise.

"I can't she repeated," as much for her own sake as for his, "As much as I try to judge her for it, it's a mistake that almost anyone could make."

She stared her husband imperiously in the face.

"Well, if you're sure?" he asked uneasily.

"I'm sure," she told him, "And if your mother or anyone else would like to discuss the matter further with me, they know where they can find me."

**2.**

"That should do it," she told him as the wardrobe moved another metre towards the corner of the room.

Charles stood back looking relieved. Standing beside him, Elsie surveyed the room. There was a good amount of space for a cot and rocking chair at least and it faced the right way to be nice and sunny in the summer.

"This should do quite nicely for a nursery," she concluded, "It could do with a lick of paint here and there but it'll be fine. A good dusting wouldn't do it any harm either."

"It'll keep you entertained on a rainy afternoon," he remarked with a small smile.

"You make it sound as if I enjoy it," she commented dryly, but grinning.

"We'll have to see about getting the bed shifted," he pointed out.

"I don't see why," she replied, "There's plenty of room for a cot even with it in here and they'll need it before you know it, just you watch."

Glancing at him, she saw a flash of something like sentimentality at the speed at which humans leave their cribs and find themselves sixty years old and in service before even a day seems to have passed. Threatened to be engulfed by something similar herself, she crossed to the window to shake the dust out of the curtains. Having done so, she stood back, looking out of the window into the evening; feeling his eyes on her back.

Then the thought that had been nagging at her ever since it had been uttered at midday suddenly sprang from her mouth with unprecedented forwardness as she turned to look back at him.

"So, Charles, I hear you're in love with me."

**Exactly a year and a week later.**

"Thank the Lord."

It was Anna who said it as the sound of crying finally dropped and there was a slump throughout the servants' hall as most of its inhabitants relaxed at the fall of the piercing sound from the kitchen. Mrs Patmore, who had sought refuge away from her usual domain, actually rested her brow on the surface of the table.

"Thank heaven for small mercies," she agreed fervently.

Miss O'Brien, looking worn down to say the least could only nod in agreement- her eyes closed and her hand propping up her head. Tentatively it seemed, Mr Carson stuck his head round the door, having apparently just worked up the nerve to leave his pantry.

"It's stopped!" he pointed out stupidly, a look akin to bliss passing over his features.

Such was his jubilation that Anna couldn't help but laugh a little in spite of herself and was followed by a weary chuckle from Mrs Patmore's direction.

"What do you feed that child, Mrs Patmore?" Mr Carson asked, taking his seat at the head of the table and looking very much as if he would be content to stay there all night.

"'T's not my fault," she protested, "Blame her mother there," she indicated towards the seemingly hibernating lady's maid beside her, "Inherited her shrill tones as sure as I'm alive."

"I'm not shrill," was all Miss O'Brien could manage.

"Many's a likely tale," Mrs Patmore remarked, "I've heard your voice raised like a siren as much as the next woman and I'll thank you to remember it the next time you go around calling upon your old suitors."

Knowing the cook only meant it frivolously, Miss O'Brien didn't even consider calling up the energy required to refute the slight on her behaviour. Mrs Patmore, bereft of a response, turned again to address Mr Carson, "Thank heaven that wife of yours has a knack for being able to get her off or we'd all have lost our marbles by now."

Since their marriage, Charles and Elsie had moved into one of the old nursery rooms. This had lately proved just as beneficial for their sanity as it had for privacy. Having been delighted at the idea of a baby in the house and wanting, in spite of herself, to help as much as possible: the arrangement had been come to that as long as Miss O'Brien saw to the child during the night, Elsie would keep an eye on her during the day.

On cue, Mrs Hughes- for no one had ever got into the habit of calling her Mrs Carson- entered the room with a sleepy bundle in her arms. The room fell hushed: whomsoever had the ungainliness to wake Emma up would be promptly strung out on the washing line by Mrs Patmore.

"I've just got her off," Mr Hughes told them in a hushed voice, as if they could have failed to notice.

Miss O'Brien had wearily opened her eyes at the sound of the housekeeper's return.

"Pass her here, then," she told her, standing up.

Although she looked weary, exhausted, downright knackered she still smiled as her daughter was put into her arms.

"Took a long time to go to sleep tonight, didn't you?" she addressed the bundle, "I wish you'd got to sleep for me as quickly as you seem to for Granny, picky bugger," she added with affection.

"Granny" as she seemed to be referred to increasingly frequently these days had perched herself on the arm of her husband's chair.

"Get her off to bed , before she wakes up and kicks off again," she advised, "I'm not sure I can take it again tonight."

Miss O'Brien did as she was told, she couldn't afford to lose the good will or childcare services of Mrs Hughes. There was a noticeable buzz of relief as the baby was taken away. Although most of the staff were fond of Emma, it was a relief to know that their eardrums were momentarily safe.

"Anyone for tea?" Mr Bates asked, standing as the staff murmured their agreement at the proposal.

"I'll help," Anna offered and followed him to the kitchen.

"I hope she's not setting her cap at him," Mrs Patmore remarked once they were out of earshot, "If we have any more children down 'ere, my kitchen might as well open as a flaming zoo!"

Mr Carson snorted mildly at the remark, rubbing his eyes.

"Give her her due, Miss O'Brien's coped much better with motherhood than anyone would have expected," Mrs Hughes pointed out.

"Aye," Mrs Patmore sighed, "I'll give the girl that."

**End.**

**Sorry, this ended up with a bit of unprecedented Carson/Hughes in it, it seems that that's all my mind's capable of on a Sunday. I hoped you enjoyed it- the whole fic, not the Carson/Hughes- I really liked writing it, even though it was a bit of a crazy idea. I'd love to know what you thought of it as a whole, so please review- and thank you for all the lovely reviews up to this point, they were greatly appreciated. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Epilogue, as requested. Only read if you're interested in Carson/Hughes; otherwise it's likely to repulse you.**

_"So, Charles, I hear you're in love with me."_

What felt like a lifetime passed by in the beat of silence that followed. People in service as a rule don't do forwardness as a rule, and when they do it generally does not go well. But there are occasionally, very occasionally, exceptions and that was what, Elsie supposed, gave Charles the courage to open his mouth even after she had flung the statement so accusingly upon him. She hadn't meant to but apparently had managed admirably. She made a mental vow never to be unduly forward again.

"Do you?" he asked cautiously.

Her mouth had gone suddenly dry; all she could manage was a curt nod. He seemed to swallow at the same time as she did.

"Who from?" he asked, either an air of curiosity or a lack of something sensible to say prevailing. Or both.

Heavens, Elsie, just answer the question! Her brain was in a state of collapse.

"Actually it was her Ladyship," she tried to state it as if it wasn't absurd, but it was.

Evidently, he realised as much, his eyebrows raised alarmingly. She was seized by the urge to hide herself behind the curtain she was standing beside and to not re-emerge for at least a week.

"Her Ladyship?" he repeated, his surprise evident, "How did that even come up?"

Granted, that wasn't what she'd expected him to say. It wasn't the first objection to the situation she'd have expected him to have. She racked her jelly brain to recall what had been said that morning in the drawing room. Once she had remembered, she wondered how best to tell him without giving him a heart attack.

"Erm..." she began uneasily, "His Lordship wanted you to... that is, he suggested that you marry Miss O'Brien."

It was a credit to him, she thought, that he managed to prevent his jaw from dropping a good inch. Instead his eyebrows were given further exercise. The true absurdity of the idea sank in and she couldn't help but giggle at it; earning herself a stern look.

"Sorry," she apologised, trying not to let out another hoot, "But," she considered breaking her vow of abstaining from forwardness, "But the funniest thing is I think you would have, if her Ladyship hadn't told his Lordship that he was being ridiculous."

"Do you?" he asked, seeming to be just as surprised by that suggestion as any other that had been recently proffered.

Well, this was where forwardness got you, she thought, and there was no backing out of it now. She took a deep breath.

"I certainly think you'd consider it," she told him honestly, "If your employer asked you to. Because you feel it's your duty to them. Though in this instance I can hardly say I agree."

Yes, Elsie, the voice in her head congratulated her, I can safely say that you've probably gone a little bit too far this time.

"I don't."

His voice was quiet but deep and firm. She wanted to say that she was glad but didn't; waiting for him to go on.

"I'm sorry to hear that you think I'd go as far as to _marry _someone just because his Lordship told me to, Elise, I'd have thought you knew me better than that."

She gulped to herself.

"I know," he bowed his head slightly, "I don't show my feelings often, but that doesn't mean that they don't exist. Because they do, Elsie."

If he was waiting for her to say something, he was going to be waiting for a long time; she didn't think she knew where her voice had suddenly gone. Thankfully, he seemed to get the message.

"And I couldn't, however much I tried, put them aside enough to even consider marrying Miss O'Brien. They're too strong for that."

"I'm glad," her voice returned miraculously, stronger than she felt, "I'm glad they are. Because if so, then you can't object to answering me: _do _you love me?"

He didn't say anything, the movement of his head was ample answer. When she eventually found herself being pushed into the curtain it was by him. Kissing her.

**Yes, it's soppy, but for some unbeknown reason, I'm being soppy this evening. And ridiculous too, probably, as I usually get while writing Carson/Hughes. **


End file.
